


making a fuss

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boss/Employee Relationship, Director Daisy Johnson, F/M, First Kiss, Future Fic, Love Confessions, Minor Injuries, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, not season 5 compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Director Johnson's favorite agent gets injured on a mission and she worries a little too much.





	making a fuss

She tries to help him sit, but it seems like he’s got it., maneuvering himself carefully on the couch, so that the injured arm doesn’t suffer as the Zephyr takes off. She joins him once she has radioed Mack telling him they’re coming home and more or less okay.

“Couldn’t they have gotten the arm I can exchange?” Coulson jokes, fidgeting with his sling, as if trying to get the wrinkles out of its rough fabric, wincing a bit. He looks up and seems to notice Daisy’s frowny expression. “It’s fine - I’ve had these before, I’ll be back on my feet in 48 hours.”

Daisy tries to look unconcerned.

“Great, cause I was mentally looking for new sparring partners.”

She chuckles at her own joke ( _it’s not that funny, Daisy_ ) and turns to busy herself away from her embarrassment.

She comes back with a blanket.

“I think you are exaggerating,” Coulson tells her, stopping her in her tracks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sorry, I just-”

She leaves the blanket aside.

She’s not sure what’s wrong with her - or what’s been wrong with her lately. It’s not like Coulson is badly hurt, and even when she watched him actually _get hurt_ out there in the field, she wasn’t worried it was seriously; they pushed through and completed the mission.

“I just want you to rest,” Daisy says, going to the plane’s kitchen. She wants to do something for Coulson but what? The blanket was her big idea. She could make some food, but you don’t want food after getting knocked out like that. Still, maybe something warm, something comforting. She wants to comfort her injured agent, that’s it. It’s a natural feeling for a Director, isn’t it?

Daisy comes back to the little living area - recently re-arranged, she wanted a change - and sits besides Coulson, handing him the mug.

“Is this your managerial style?” Coulson teases her. “The Director brings coffee to her bruised agents.”

“Not too bruised, I hope.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

Daisy reaches out and touches the outline of his sling for a second.

“I know you are,” she admits. She’s being silly.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugs, she lies. “Nothing.” A beat. She keeps her hands on her lap, despite the desire to touch him again, make sure he truly is in one piece. “Are you sure you don’t want the blanket?”

Coulson narrows her eyes at her.

“You’re fussing.”

“Am not!”

They sit in a silence amplified by her louder tone.

Coulson doesn’t talk, but even from the corner of her eye Daisy can hear the worried “ _Daisy…_ ” from his expression - but that’s stupid, one can’t hear from the corner of one’s eyes, can’t hear an expression, Daisy tells herself to get a grip.

It’s like he’s waiting for her, he’s good at that - letting her talk first, but of course there’s the _looking_ , he’s looking at her, waiting, and Daisy fidgets, finding the silence charged rather than an opportunity to gather her thoughts.

Her hands tingle with more than just leftover energy from using her powers - one of those little extra things about being Inhumans, that she can never properly talk about with other people.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Daisy shrugs. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“We’ve been in danger many times,” Coulson points out, maddeningly rational. “We’ve seen each other almost die plenty of times. This is a scratch.”

“I know, I know,” Daisy replies. She’s being ridiculous of course. “It’s not your problem, it’s mine. It’s increasingly hard not to fuss.”

“Why? Because you’re in charge now? That’s natural.”

It’s not just that, though of course being in charge of everything, in charge of Coulson himself, has a way of sharpening all those notions.

It’s not just the being in charge, but of course she can’t admit that.

“Look, I’m never going to ask you to step down, or not go in the field with me, just because there’s this… thing. Just let me fuss a bit, okay?”

“I still don’t understand-”

“I’m scared of losing you, okay?”

She says it both loud and off-hand, not looking at Coulson, sounding almost angry, like how dare he ply it out of her with his understanding and his smile and his Coulson-ness. She was willing to take this to her grave. 

Coulson lifts his one good hand - the prosthetic, but Daisy thinks of it as just his hand anyway - to stroke her cheek. Casually.

“I can’t lose you either,” Coulson says, also casually.

“Yeah, it’s not the same,” Daisy sighs, without thinking. She doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

Coulson takes his hand away. She can see his body stiffen awkwardly.

“Oh.”

Daisy looks up. She didn’t expect him to really get what she was saying but his expression tells her Coulson understands even the fine print of it.

She scrambles to find the right apology - passed it off as a joke, apologize profusely for being a pathetic creep, appeal to his kindness, so many options - when Coulson’s hand grabs her shoulder and pulls her towards him.

It feels like it takes a long time for their mouths to connect, but Daisy is not sure that’s an accurate impression or just her heart going fast and scared and loud. She closes her eyes at the last moment, happy that Coulson is leading this, happy for the warm hand on her shoulder grounding her, stopping her from turning liquid or slipping down the couch or just plain running away when their lips touch. The fear of losing Coulson on the field turns into the fear of losing him because of a line crossed here, turns into the relief of knowing, deep down, it would never happen like that.

The kiss becomes easier as it goes on, Coulson prodding, Daisy enjoying, the room and the whole plane seemingly in stasis for the moment.

It sways her.

Like really good music.

Then Coulson pulls back, breaking the kiss, stopping the music, and he smiles half a smile.

“It _is_ the same,” he explains, his tone very intent.

It takes her a moment to realize he’s answering her own words.

“I thought…” she starts, a bit embarrassed of all her self-pitying thoughts lately. “When did this…?”

“I don’t know,” Coulson says, his fingers darting over the curve of Daisy’s spine and his nose tickling her cheek as he speaks, and Daisy can’t choose which sensation to focus on and savor. “Ever since you became Director and we’ve been out in these missions… things seem different.”

“Right?!” Daisy hurries to say, high-pitched. Excited because she thought it was just her, and that she was losing her mind, every time Coulson would look at her in a certain way, or every time some ambiguous word fell between them in a conversation.

He smiles for a moment, like he’s amused at that excitement.

“But this was always here,” he tells her then, all serious.

Daisy nods, because she knows what he’s talking about it.

Though she’s shocked either of them are bold enough to admit it.

“I just never…” he goes on, but then he stops, looking at her face, like he’s distracted, like _she’s distracting him_. In his eyes there’s a mixture of joy, embarrassment and perhaps a bit of shame, which tells Daisy this might have been going on for a lot longer than she imagined, in some way of form, it goes back to probably the time when Coulson would have considered such notions improper for a superior and his subordinate. “You? When did you…? ...this?” he asks.

Daisy smiles, somewhat eager to re-write history. Because back then she would have never imagined that she’d be _allowed_ to feel like this, to want this, but she likes the idea that somehow she knew already, the way her whole world seemed to take on a new color, or go from black and white to color, since the first moment she saw him. It’s sentimental and cliché, but it’s the best way she has to explain it to herself.

“You wanted to help Mike Peterson,” she says. “You didn’t want to lock him up, you wanted to actually help, that’s when-”

“ _Then_? Daisy, that was two hours after we met,” Coulson points out, sounding slightly alarmed.

Daisy smirks. “I’m a very patient girl.”

He chuckles, drawing his soft laughter all the way to her mouth as he leans in to kiss her. Daisy is very aware of his sling, his injured arm, and her skin prickles with the anticipation of doing this when they don’t have to worry about these things. But for now these soft, long kisses will do.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” Coulson tells her between kisses. “Reward… all that… patience.”

Daisy laughs against his mouth.

He’s so corny.

She never dared imagined how he would be.

But if she had, she’d imagine it’d be exactly like this.


End file.
